


The Disaster Magnet

by fhclause



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Modern/Victorian Setting, Ravus/Noctis friendship, will contain smut/lemon/pwp in future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-09-05 16:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16814500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhclause/pseuds/fhclause
Summary: What a great way to amuse oneself but to offer oneself to danger, yes?





	1. Chapter 1

**The Disaster Magnet**

_Final Fantasy XV © Square Enix_

_The Disaster Magnet © fhclause_

Chapter 1

Weddings.

The pinnacle of happiness to the end of a bachelor or bachelorette’s life. A celebration of joining between two people drowned in each other’s gooey looks. A wonderful event where the bride and groom amazed their guests not just with their vow of everlasting love till death do them apart or with the overflowing flowers and banners all over the pew, walls and floor, but also with an over-decorated five-tier cake with thick, tasteless fondant.

Yes, weddings—as wonderful as it was—could be too much even for the celebrated bride and groom that cynical thoughts took over. Surely if he could find the bride—wife—he would feel better. His blue eyes turned away from the empty glass in his hand to find her, but it wasn’t all that hard when everyone around her were chanting and pushing her to the dance floor. He moved—almost like an instinct—to take her hand and his cue.

Then the husband came.

Nyx Ulfric, grinning from ear to ear as if had won the lottery—and he did, the bastard—pulled Luna to the centre of the ballroom. Her shriek of surprise quickly turned into laughter as he spun her around and turned to another shriek again when he dipped her low.

 _Show off_ , Noctis thought with a roll of his eyes as he shook his empty glass to the bartender for another refill. Even before the bartender could put the fresh glass of bourbon down, Noctis took it from his hand and downed it in one shot. His throat burned that it made him teared up, but Noctis didn’t care.

Never in all his life knowing her did he ever see Luna so carefree, laughing and smiling with no inhibition like that. Not when they were chasing each other around in the flower field when they were children. Not when they were playing fetch with Pryna and Umbra when they were teenagers. Not when they were exchanging knowing, bored looks across the meeting table with the politicians shouting at each other when he and Luna used to be engaged.

No. With him, her smiles were like the touch of the wind on your cheeks and her laughter was soft ring bells like the lily of the valley. Soft. That was the word. Luna had this persona of a soft-spoken, gentle lady and if anyone told Noct before that Luna could lie on a bed of clouds without passing it through, he would have believed it.

Because she was that soft.

This new part of her, though? He resented Luna a bit for it, being exes to each other notwithstanding. They had been friends—still were—since they were eight and for seventeen years of friendship, not a peep of this shrieking and laughing girl had she shown to him. But one day, in one of her stays in Insomnia, an assassin tried to kill her when a tall, dark, gruff looking knight stopped it. Noct might have shot himself in the foot then, because he was so grateful to Nyx Ulfric that he himself had assigned the Kingsglaive as Luna’s personal bodyguard. He did notice the looks the two exchanged sometimes, but Noct did not think of it much then.

It was only when he heard a loud laugh between the incessant chatter of the soiree—so familiar yet so strange to his ears—and caught Luna clapping her mouth with her wide, sylleblossom eyes looking around at the people staring at her as if she had lost her mind and a quick slap to the arm of her ever-present bodyguard who was pinching his lips together trying to look stern, that Noctis knew.

And so Noctis did what he knew was right—ended their five-year engagement and told Luna to be happy.

Half a year later, there they were, the celebrated couple on the dance floor, dancing to the slow music, captivated in each other’s gazes. And here he was, accompanied with nothing but a busy bartender and two empty glasses.

“Well, don’t you look like the grim reaper himself.”

Noctis sent a withering look to the man who was ambling towards him. In his pristine white attire, Ravus looked almost like a sharp dressed angel, with the chandelier’s light casted a halo reflection on his light-coloured hair. In fact, everyone in this ballroom _did_ glorify Ravus as the Angel of Tenebrae. His feat in toppling the cruel Iedolas and became Nifleheim’s new emperor with little bloodbath was the kind of achievement that would be written in history books and remembered until the end of time.

To Noctis, however, he was a narcissistic, overbearing man. They rarely saw eye to eye, Ravus and he. They had been rivals since childhood—why, Noctis was not sure, considering how scarcely they saw each other, even when they were children—but since King Regis’s death, the resentment had lessened. Instead, Ravus had taken the liberty to treat him like a child.

Just look at that haughty, raised eyebrow. Not even a hello and Ravus was already judging him. Noctis sighed. He _almost_ preferred the old Ravus than this one. “Can’t help it, can I? It’s my house’s colour.”

“I’m not talking about your attire, Noctis.” Ravus glanced at the glasses on the bar. “You have been drinking?”

“Yep.”

Ravus looked at him sceptically. “Noctis, you _never_ drink. Not even in those all-nighter meetings we have on weekends. And while I do understand you were trying to cure your broken heart—” Noctis scoffed as Ravus pushed the empty glasses away as if to hide his little imbibement away from public eye. “—I prefer if you do not do it in such a manner that paints you the victim in their love story, my dear.”

At that little endearment, Noctis quickly straightened. Ravus did treat him like a child, but Noctis knew the older man cared for him just as much as his Brotherhood did. Only that Ravus’s care felt more like a strict father than a brother, and his jabs, sarcasms and set downs were worse than Ignis that Noctis stewed in shame when he was at the brunt of it. Ravus using that specific little endearment though, meant he had done something terribly wrong and required Noctis to apologise post-haste, regardless if he knew what he did wrong or not.

How Ravus did it though, was one of the many mysteries of Ravus Nox Fleuret. “I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Look around and tell me.”

Noctis did just that and winced. Behind their gloved hands and intricate fans, the nobles were whispering to each other, glancing at him with pitied sighs and shaking their heads lightly at the couple dancing on the dance floor. Some didn’t even bother to hide their snickers. As much as this was a fairy-tale came to life—a tale of a princess marrying a commoner that sent romantics afloat with their flapping feet—such joining was still looked down upon by many, especially the ton. And him—the former fiancé —looking forlorn and nursing his drinks in their wedding ceremony did not help matters.

Noctis rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll apologise to Luna later.”

“Personal apologies mean nothing to these hungry, gossip-monger sharks, my dear.” Noctis winced again. “Later, you will smile to the bride and shake hands with the groom and dance with your partner beside them. Make a show of it. Show that you are not, in any way, broken-hearted.”

“But I don’t have a partner, Ravus. I came here alone.”

Ravus looked at him with wide, feigned innocent eyes. “Did you?”

“Ah.” Noctis glared at him. “That’s the main reason you came to me. You’re running away from your date by giving her to me.”

Ravus waved his hand dismissively. “Hardly a ‘date’. More like an obligatory chaperon.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Ravus opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut. He waved his hand again as if to encourage the air to find the words for him, but nothing came out. Then Ravus looked around, making sure no one was near enough to hear them. “Frankly speaking, the girl is a disaster. Do you know of a Duke of Oceanus?”

Noctis hummed in thought. “Isn’t he one of the nobles from Tenebrae?”

“Correct. His late son, Marquess of Lacus, Mahseer Altum, was a good friend of my father. When he heard that my father lost his life to save his son in the war, the duke took the obligation to help mother raising us. I think he felt guilty for what happened even though he didn’t need to. War doesn’t choose its victims, after all. Then the rebellion against Emperor Iedolas happened, and both the Marquess and Marchioness of Lacus were shot dead for helping the rebels. Their daughter was still three years old then.”

Noctis winced in pity.

Ravus hummed dismissively. “The point of this sad story is both Luna and I are grateful to the duke. He is like a second grandfather to us. He is notoriously grumpy, but we love him all the same. I am obligated to help him, not just as the emperor, but as a family. And His Grace current concern now is his granddaughter.”

“Wait…” Noctis frowned as he remembered something from one of Luna’s letters to him, about a lady who frequented their house and was considered as the honorary little sister of the family. “Is she the one who is named after a—”

“Hush! Don’t say it out loud!” Ravus frowned nervously—could the verb frown be accompanied by the adverb nervously? Noctis supposed the strangeness of it was one of Ravus’s mysteries working. “He will hear you,” Ravus whispered as he glanced to the side.

Noctis looked too at the old man sitting far back from the crowd on the settee. He had a mean looking cane in his hand and would thump the end of the stick on the floor when someone dared came near. The scowl on his face looked like it had been permanently engraved. “Huh.”

“As I said, notoriously grumpy,” Ravus sighed. “He just celebrated his seventieth birthday a fortnight ago and it seemed His Grace understands he is getting old and is worried about his granddaughter’s unmarried state. The girl has never been to any type of soirees or balls, so she is basically unknown to the ton.”

Noctis looked at him suspiciously. “You are not trying to set a marriage for her with me, are you?”

Ravus rolled his eyes. “Of course not, silly. I only need you to dance with her. A little attention from the King of Lucis should be enough for other noblemen to be interested too.”

“Then why can’t you do it? You’re the emperor _and_ her companion.”

Ravus pinched his lips together. “I would have loved to, but I need some rest from dancing. I find that tutoring a lady for a quick lesson on the art of dancing is not a skill I have. It is quite detrimental to my feet. No fear, though. I made sure she is a decent enough dancer before tonight.” He sighed. “I do love the old man and the girl is like a little sister to me as well as Luna, but she can be…too much to someone who is not used to her—or used to her. Actually, I’m surprised she hasn’t made a—”

_“Eeep!”_

“Alas,” Ravus rolled of his eyes. “I spoke too soon.”

Noctis peered over Ravus’s shoulder to see two women; one of them obviously one of the caterers judging by the uniform while the other was a guest. A quick assessment and he assumed that the guest had likely knocked her glass on something or someone and caused the big, red wine stain on the caterer’s uniform. What was interesting to Noctis though, it was the _guest_ who bowed and apologised profusely for her mistake.

In what trippy world was he in to see a noble _apologising_ to their lesser?

“Come. Let’s save the day before the old dragon notices,” Ravus said as he pulled him by the arm. Noctis glanced back at the duke and sure enough, the old man hadn’t noticed his granddaughter’s blunder. When they reached there, the caterer was already gone and the girl was hiding her face in her hands in embarrassment.

No wonder, that. Everyone around was staring at her, after all. But with one quick glare from Ravus, everyone looked away. In a gentle voice, he called out to her. “Mola.”

At that, she snapped her gaze up. She beamed at them—Noctis blinked at the sight of her gum and white teeth because he could not recall any nobles he knew, new Luna excluded, to ever smiled as wide as that. Then he blinked again when the girl almost crashed herself onto Ravus if the latter had not put a steady hand on her shoulder.

 _Was she about to_ hug _Ravus? In_ public _?_

“Ravus! Thank goodness. Where have you _been_?”

“Terribly sorry, my dear. I had a prior engagement to settle,” Ravus said, the lie came out smoothly as butter. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. I just hope the caterer has another uniform to wear. Oh, but what if she doesn’t and she gets into trouble? What if she gets fired? It’ll be my fault!”

Ravus patted her shoulder. “I will personally see to it that she won’t. In the meantime, may I introduce you to my friend, Noctis Lucis Caelum, King of Lucis. Noctis, this is Lady Mola Altum, granddaughter of Duke of Oceanus.”

Lady Mola swivelled her head at his direction and looked at him with wide eyes as if she had just noticed him standing there. Lady Mola was dressed in a simple, yet elegant green ballgown. Her short, red hair—curled just for the occasion—framed her round face quite nicely. What caught his attention though, was her figure. It was slightly fuller than most young noblelady Noctis knew.

 _A buxom_ , a startling, lusty thought suddenly came over that he quickly reeled back. He bowed, making sure his eyes stayed respectively away from her generous looking breasts. “Lady Mola. A pleasure.”

He waited for her curtsy, but it didn’t come. Ravus coughed delicately behind his gloved hand, and Lady Mola snapped her gaping mouth shut. “Oh. _Oh_ , I mean, you’re so good looking that I—”

Noctis recoiled as his face turned red. Ravus coughed louder.

“No! That was not I—Ah, umm...well—” She clenched her eyes tight, sucked a few breaths through her teeth and mumbled, “The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty.”

 _By the Six!_ Ravus was right. She _was_ a disaster. Not a minute into their introduction and she had already blundered at least a quarter of the social etiquette in the book. She would not survive these bloodthirsty, gossip-monger sharks of nobles. Another vulgarity from her, and she would be the main topic the next day instead of the wedding—and she would not be talked about kindly. Ravus was right to worry and Noctis understood why the older man seek him out specifically for this. Noctis, after all, had a case of bleeding heart.

Alas. How many times had he went to fetch just the right frogs, personally delivered to his Head of Biological Department?

But instead of Noctis feeling helpful towards her, he found himself remarkably diverted. Selfish. _Selfishly_ diverted. Why, he was not sure—perhaps the alcohol finally took an effect—but Noctis did not want to help this woman _for_ her, but for his own amusement. What a great end to a night but to offer oneself to danger, after all.

And so he bowed again and offered his arm. “Lady Mola, may I have this honour to dance with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Modern/Victorian: Most of the technology are modern while the etiquette and social norms adapts a Victorian one. Think of/Google Gankutsuo.
> 
> 2\. I do not regret in potraying Ravus as a pomp. This is an AU after all.
> 
> 3\. I love the Brotherhood's friendship, but I also need more Ravus/Noctis friendship. I have a thing for 'I hate/resent you, but I respect you' relationship. You'd know this if you read my 'Gentle Lady' (shameless self-advertising here)
> 
> 4\. The Noctis here is the one with longer hair without the beard. Can't picture it? Then look at the third one [here](https://mistress-light.tumblr.com/post/168621351962/his-smile-says-more-than-a-1000-words-way-more)
> 
> 5\. Make sure to subscribe for future updates. Thank you for reading and have a nice day :)


	2. Chapter 2

**The Disaster Magnet**

_Final Fantasy XV © Square Enix_

_The Disaster Magnet © fhclause_

Chapter 2

Wedding cards.

It was amazing how a perfumed, cream-coloured rectangle card, embossed with complicated yet captivating design and written on with careful, cursive invitation could incite such spirit on others to convince other bachelor or bachelorette to have weddings too. Even when the said bachelor or bachelorette had given no indication that they wanted to marry. And yet, it made Grandpapa—the great scowler, Duke of Oceanus, abuser of the floor (with his cane), and ill-tempered when put near a stranger—asked the question she most dreaded.

_When are you going to get married, Mola?_

Honestly, it made Mola feel a little bit betrayed. Considering how he hated strangers, she was hoping he wouldn’t ask that question until she was in her late fifties.

At least.

It wasn’t as if Mola hated men—she always scooted closer to the television that Grandpapa always grumbled about healthy distance when the news featured the Kingsglaive. Or better yet, the Brotherhood and the King of Lucis himself, because _wow_. How could Lucis get all the beautiful men while her only option in Tenebrae was _Ravus_? Mola didn’t hate weddings, nor was she a non-believer of true love neither—what Luna had endured for the past half year after her past engagement with King Noctis just to marry the man she loved, was a proof that true love did exist. And Mola was _glad_ that they were able to marry.

She only found that weddings and marriage was not suitable for someone like her. It required too much work and time. _Expectation_. Mola understood that her grandfather had good intention, that he didn’t want her to ended up alone when he passed.

But was aloneness worse than letting yourself to be _vulnerable_ and _open_ to someone who had the power to manipulate the workings of your heart?

With a shudder, Mola had hidden the wedding invitation card, hoping that Grandpapa would soon forget if he didn’t see it again. Alas, it was for nought because three days before the wedding, Ravus had come visit and decided that she had to learn how to dance properly. With sweat—on her part—and literal tears—on Ravus’s part—he finally declared she was a decent enough dancer and that she would be his partner to the wedding.

On the day of the wedding, Ravus had somehow convinced her to ditch her trousers and put on a dress instead with the excuse that she would stand out like a sore thumb if she did not. She had regretted following that advice because she kept catching the hem of her dress with the tip of her shoes. Mola had a premonition then that she would trip somehow. She was _that_ unlucky.

It was alright during the actual ceremony, because all that was required of her was to sit down, keep quiet, watch the bride and groom proceeded to knot themselves for eternity and clap her hands. It was the after-ceremony where it was required for everyone to _socialise_ she most dreaded of. She knew no one here except Luna and Grandpapa. And her supposedly _partner_ had gone off to Six-knows-where.

It was _horrible_. She felt like she was being swarmed by actual wasps because she could feel the sting of the curious stares by the people around her. She had stood frozen from where Ravus last left her and when her brain finally commanded her to move and search for him, she had accidentally crashed a caterer, causing the untouched wine in her hand sploshed onto the pristine uniform.

After myriad of apologies, Mola felt like her skin was being scorched because other than the stares, her blunder had started the whispers. She didn’t notice she had buried her face in her hands until she heard Ravus’s voice.

“Mola.”

And then he had introduced her to his friend that needed no introduction at all. Mola was so shocked to see Lucis’s beloved king and heartthrob right in front of her—Oh wow. His eyes were bluer than she had thought. And the hair! How could he make long hair so good on him?—that she didn’t realise he had spoken. A cough jolted her out of admiration. “Oh. _Oh_ , I mean, you’re so good looking that I—”

The cough became louder.

“No! That was not I—” Stop! She couldn’t say he was not good looking. That would offend him even more! What should she say? What should she _say!_? “Ah, umm...well—”

Her heart thumped so loudly in her chest that she had clenched her eyes in pain and gasped a quick breath. There was a tingle in her fingers as they started to sweat, so she hid and clutched her fingers between the fabric of her dress. A few more deep breaths and it suddenly occurred to her that he had voiced his pleasure on meeting her. Mola opened her eyes, but kept them down on the floor. “The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty.”

There. She had butchered her introduction and have offended the king by embarrassing him in front of the crowd. She would be lucky if it did not cause an international dispute. She really did not want to have another war. If there was, perhaps Ravus would be kind enough not to execute her right away? Maybe she could persuade Luna to—

“Lady Mola, may I have this honour to dance with you?”

Mola blinked at the proffered arm in her sight of vision. She followed the owner of said arm and sure enough, it was King Noctis’s.

And he asked her for a _dance_. _He_ asked _her_ for a _dance_.

The idea of it was so absurd that Mola asked, “Are you sure?”

Then, even a stranger thing happened. He _smiled_. At _her_. As if she did not embarrass him a moment ago. As if her botch up introduction did not happen. And in that moment of confusion, she had found herself too late to snatch her traitorous hand back that had somehow perched on his arm without her permission. On the way to the dance floor, Mola glanced at his face to see if he had only smiled out of respect for Ravus. But no. It was still there.

As if the idea of dancing with her would actually bring him joy.

As they were about to reach the centre of the ballroom, Mola saw Luna and her husband were talking to a few nobles in red and green coats with one of them wearing a fluffy, feathered hat. She caught Luna’s eyes and sent her a little wave but quickly put it down when she remembered who was beside her. The couple nodded to the nobles as they excused themselves and made their way to them. “Mola, you came!”

In her excitement to finally see her friend, Mola launched herself to hug Luna. There was a little ‘oof’, but she took it a sign to hug Luna tighter. “I’m so, so, _so_ happy for you.”

“Oh, Mola.” Luna let the hug lingered for a moment before pulling away. “Thank you for coming. I had thought you will not.”

“How can I miss my best friend’s wedding? Although, to be honest, it was Ravus that deserves the praise. He practically dragged me here. All I planned was giving you a wedding gift,” Mola laughed before looking at Luna with wide eyes. “I was joking. I really want to come.”

Luna giggled behind her curled fingers, noting her that she was not offended at all. She then looked at the man beside Mola and curtsied. “Your Majesty, thank you for coming.”

Mola turned her wide eyes at King Noctis, fretted internally that she might have offended the king again. She really should not have waved at Luna, should she? She should have pretended she did not see her friend and walked straight to the centre and let the king lead her for that dance. Instead, she had unintentionally made both the king and his ex-fiancée, on the said ex-fiancee’s wedding day, to become the centre of the attention of the ton. Mola could practically feel the sting of the ton’s curious stares and they shushing others meant they were expecting some kind of drama out of it.

King Noctis was either not aware of the role he was supposed to play or he was blatantly ignoring it, because he smiled to the bride, took her hand and kissed the air above her knuckles. “So formal, Luna. Congratulations, by the way.” He then turned his attention to the groom, smiled even wider and shook his arm. “And to you too, Nyx. Better take care of her properly, or half of the world is going to get you for hurting her.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will.”

And just like that, the ton’s excitement deflated like a sad balloon. Mola sighed in relief, but sucked a startled breath when she felt a light touch down her back. It was King Noctis’s fingers. “I was wondering if I could trouble the both of you to lead another dance? Lady Mola and I haven’t had the chance to dance yet,” he said.

Luna smiled at her husband, a smile too wide to be appropriate for a noble lady. “Well, I don’t think I am that tired yet. How about you, Nyx?”

Nyx grinned. “To dance with the most beautiful woman in the room? Hell, yes.”

They laughed as they lead the dance while Mola and the king followed from behind. She set her arm along the clad-in-black one and repressed the urge to throw up. Just her luck that her first dance in front of the ton was with a _king_. Mola felt the stings of their stares again. This time, it was worse. They had been deprived of the drama between the king and his ex. Now they were depending their whole entertainment on _her_.

Of her impending failure.

“They’re like vipers in your bed, aren’t they? Sometimes you don’t even know what you’re doing wrong but they still swung around like a cracked bell-clapper.”

She had been focusing hard on harmonising the movement of her feet with his that it took a moment for Mola to realise he had talk. “Oh,” was her only smart reply.

“Just ‘oh’? Hmm. How about this? Their goal in fashion is to stand out in the crowd like the proverbial sore thumb. Did you see that gentleman with the feathered hat? I wonder if he had a competition with a peacock before coming here with that atrocious hat.”

“Oh!” _He was making jokes!_

King Noctis chuckled. “Either I am bad at jokes or ‘oh’ is your way of laughing.”

Mola shook her head vigorously. “No! I just did not think you would—” The words ran away before she could say them. She frantically searched for them, then realising that the words might offend him again. She settled with the ones which had become uncomfortably familiar since tonight. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Mola glanced at his blue eyes to see if he really did not know, but quickly returned them to her feet when she felt her dress brushed the tip of her shoes. “I am not good with…socialising, as you have seen. Jokes are not my forte either, so I might get them a little late. I don’t know what Ravus was thinking, introducing me to you.” She frowned. “Actually, I think I do. He coerced you to, didn’t he? Now you’re obligated to talk with a bore.”

“Perhaps, Lady Mola,” he said, as they spun around. “I was captivated by your beauty and sought for an introduction to you.”

“Captivated by my—” Mola looked at him as if he had just sprouted another head on his shoulder before laughing.

“Ah. So ‘oh’ isn’t your way of laughing.”

Mola shook her head. “You’re so silly.” She gasped when she realised what she had said. “Oh, I’m sorr—”

King Noctis laughed. “I have to agree. Having to wear three layers of clothes just to look impressive _is_ silly. Did you know that Ravus called me a grim reaper? I think he was right. I am getting too warm to be comfortable.”

Mola looked at him again, but this time in appreciative awe. King Noctis _was_ as kind as he was in the news. He must have regretted his decision to pick her as his dance partner by now, but instead of getting offended or mockingly laughed at her continuous blunders, he treated them as if they were nothing unusual. Treated _her_ as if she was not a vulgar girl crying for attention. Not many, especially strangers, were this kind to her. He reminded her of Luna and Ravus wrapped in one—gentle with his words yet blunt enough without feeling sardonic about it.

And that thought alone made Mola smiled gratefully. “I don’t know how you could be so kind to me. I think I have insulted you more than a person should. You have the right to execute me for these offences.”

King Noctis hummed in thought. “Execute is too much. Flogging might be better.”

Mola gasped in shock before noticing the twitch at the corner of his lips. “Oh! You’re making jokes again!”

“I take it back,” he chuckled. “‘Oh’ is certainly your way of laughing.

They were almost at the end of their dance, but Mola did not want it to end when she made such a horrible impression of herself on him. She gnawed her lips in worry; King Noctis tried to make her comfortable in his presence. Shouldn’t she pay him the same courtesy? Mola looked at him in the eye, somehow giddy with courage she never felt before. “I… I heard that the ton love soirees and balls because—” She took a deep breath. “Because they have a great sense of ‘rumour’.”

The king stared at her, his eyebrows shot up so high, they almost disappeared behind his parted bangs. Then, to her delight, he snorted, sucked a breath through his teeth, and burst out a loud laugh so infectious that she laughed too.

It was then the notorious fight between the tip of her shoes and the hem of her dress became worse. Mola had forgotten to mind her footing, so when she felt the dress trapped underneath her shoes, she jerked her foot away. But the force startled him that he accidentally stepped on her dress and with no space to move, Mola fell down. And because both she and the king were basically wrapped in each other arms, he fell too.

There was a loud thud before there was a dull, throbbing pain on her forehead. There were two large blurry white forms and a black one in her vision. Confused, she looked around and found herself on the floor and another black form lying just right beside her. Mola blinked rapidly at the sudden feeling of nausea and when her vision cleared, she saw what it was lying beside her.

_“Eeep!”_

This wasn’t horrible. This was a _disaster_.

She had just killed the King of Lucis!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to subscribe for story update. Thank you for reading and have a happy day.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Disaster Magnet**

_Final Fantasy XV © Square Enix_

_The Disaster Magnet © fhclause_

Chapter 3

It had been quite a few years since Noctis felt this awful.

Sprawled inelegantly—not that there was any way one could sprawl elegantly—on the lounge chair in his room, shirt left unbuttoned on the first two and face unshaved, Noctis mumbled a thank you as Ignis passed him an ice pack. He settled the pack on his forehead with a groan of relief as he buried himself further into the soft cushions.

When Noctis woke up and found himself in his bedroom, he had thought that last night was a dream. That the bumbling, red-haired buxom who was named after a fish, was a figment of his imagination he created to distract himself from his heartache. How that deliciously skittish, voluptuous of a woman had delivered a pun so bad, yet so good, that a burst of air straight from his belly tickled his throat and made him threw back his head in laughter. Noctis didn’t remember the last time he had laughed so hard since he became king.

If he didn’t feel the pain and the obvious bump on his forehead, Noctis would have definitely thought last night was a dream.

Noctis had asked Ignis if he knew what happened after he had passed out, but his retainer said nothing other than a short commentary on how Prompto was the one who carried him back into the limousine. No words from Lady Mola directly, but the Emperor of Niflheim did send a message of his intention to visit later in the afternoon.

Well, it was almost afternoon and Noctis had not even showered yet. Ignis, as quiet as he was arranging the paperwork of the day, was giving him constant stare of disapproval across the coffee table at his lack of hygiene. Usually, Noctis would have felt rebuked enough to do what Ignis was passive-aggressively telling him to do, but the pain from the bruise on his forehead and the insistent throb from the back of his head was turning him into a sloth since morning.

Then the door was knocked onto—unnecessarily loud, in Noctis’s opinion—and Cor, his main advisor, came in.

Noctis saw through his unkempt hair that Cor had uncharacteristically raised an eyebrow at the sight of his slumped position. The sight of his king like this might have shocked the man. Usually—a back part of his mind chided himself for using the same adverb as an excuse for his lack of manner—Noctis would have straightened or saluted the man by now—he never showed his laziness to anyone outside his Brotherhood, after all—but he was _that_ weary to care. “Yes, Cor?”

Cor coughed. “I would like to resume our conversation from two nights ago, Your Majesty.”

Noctis groaned as he resettled his ice pack on his forehead. “By the Six. Can we not have this discussion right now? She just got married _yesterday_.”

“We would’ve not been having this discussion if it were _you_ she was married to. You can’t just keep putting it off, Your Majesty. One way or another, you need to do your duty,” Cor chided with a shake of his head. “You have made the council wait for five years under the reason to fortify the outlying territories of Insomnia—”

“A very good reason _and_ a successful accomplishment.”

“Yes, and the Galahd people are especially grateful. But rather than celebrating as you should have, you broke off your five-year engagement and gave your permission—publicly, _without_ discussing it with the council first—for both of them to marry.”

“Luna didn’t need my permission to marry others. And Nyx Ulfric is a good man. Just because he is a commoner, doesn’t mean he cannot be happy.”

Cor sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thank you for not harbouring any resentment towards my subordinate, but that is not my point, Your Majesty. You had broken the council’s trust and you did nothing to assuage their concern in trying to find a replacement within the past half a year after you two broke up. The council is voicing their concern about Lucis’s future.”

Noctis let the ice pack slid from his forehead as he sat up slowly. He supported his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers together as he stared down the carpet. “There has been a dissent?”

“Count Eridanus has been quite vocal in his displeasure. There is no big following as most people know how fraudulent he can be,” Cor said, his face more stern than usual. “But you know how a small fire can spread so fast.”

Noctis rubbed his thumb along with the other, contemplative. Then, he chuckled with a wry smirk. “You know, I wouldn’t have pegged you as the politic expert before I became king. There’s always a part of me that always sees you as Marshal.”

“And I will always see you as the awkward prince who helped the farmer chase back his Chocobo around like a headless chicken. But I will not discuss it in further detail, because I am too polite to do so, _Highness_.”

Noctis chuckled again.

There was a tiny quirk at the corner of his lips before Cor straightened them. He took a step forward and put a thick document on the coffee table, right into his sight of vision. “A list of candidates, for you to peruse.”

Noctis frowned at it, a sense of alarm told him not to open it, but his curiosity won over. He weighted the document, grimaced at the colourful page markers sticking out at the edge of the document, coded neatly and accordingly to the letters of the alphabet. When he flipped the cover over, his eyebrows shot up high in disbelief. “Where did you even get—”

“That information is confidential, even to you, Your Majesty. They are from all over Lucis, Niflheim and Altissia, so you have no shortage of choices. I suggest you choose one before the end of this month.”

Noctis whipped his head towards his advisor, but quickly regretted it. The headache came back with vengeance. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t choose one before the end of this _month_.”

“Fortunately for you, it’s not a matter of ‘can’, but ‘need’. Have soirees, balls or attend them. Dinners, if necessary. I’m sure you can think of a way.” Cor straightened before bowing. “Your Majesty.” He gave a stern nod to Ignis, turned and left the room.

Noctis flopped back onto the lounge chair. “Uugh.”

Ignis knocked the stack of paperwork in his hands against the coffee table a couple of times before gently setting it aside. He took the document, resting limply in Noctis’s hand, and flipped the cover over. He raised an eyebrow. It contained information of all unmarried noble ladies from over Lucis, Niflheim and Altissia, their general information, likes and dislikes, and even down to how many shoes they purchased within a year. “It is… very disturbingly detailed.”

“Ugherm.”

“Well.” Ignis put the document back onto the coffee table before nudging his glasses up. “Unfortunately, Curia Cor is right, Your Majesty. You have been putting the subject off for too long.”

“Whose side are you on?” Noctis complained.

“I don’t like this as much as you, Noct, but the worst battle sometimes are not the ones you fight outside the border. It’s the one inside. So, if Curia Cor says this would prevent inner political dispute, I think you should consider it.”

“I know, I know. I just—” Noctis groaned, gripping his hair tight as if it could help him find the answers he needed. Alas, nothing came other than more frustration. “I just hate being a king sometimes. I don’t know how Dad did it.” He let his hands slumped down next to his thighs, staring blankly at the view outside the window. It was too bright to properly empathise with his feelings. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m already failing him.”

Ignis looked at him with pity, noting that Noctis had this sense of melancholy ever since he had taken up his duty as king. But there was nothing much Ignis could do but to support him from the side. “How about I run a hot bath for you? That should make you feel better.”

And true to his retainer’s words, Noctis did feel a whole lot better. Perhaps there was something about hot bath that was magical. Or perhaps Ignis was a magician, because by the time he had buttoned up his shirt up to the collar, Noctis felt as if he was ready to rule the world. Or tackle his first immediate problem deemed by his truly.

Like the large stack of paperwork Ignis had painstakingly arranged for him. _Not_ his unmarried state nor the empty nursery.

Noctis was busy signing and/or rejecting proposals, when the butler announced the Emperor of Niflheim’s arrival and showed him in. Noctis stood up to greet him but paused midway, hands still gripping the armchair, frowning alarmingly at the big bouquet of flowers in the emperor’s hand. “What?”

Ravus rolled his eyes as he waved the bouquet around. “Not from me, silly, but from Lady Mola.”

At that, Noctis perked up and took the bouquet. It was a messy combination of yellow daisies and white lilies. He peered over the bouquet to Ravus with a raised eyebrow.

Ravus waved a hand dismissively. “She was overly distraught when she thought she had committed regicide in front of the ton that she was not comprehending anything I say until this morning. I couldn’t tell whether she was laughing of crying when she heard you’re still alive, though. When I was about to visit you, she gave me a bouquet of daisies to pass to you. Then I suggested to her to come with me, and she took it back and came back with _that_. Must be something I said that convinced her that I was tricking her to go to your funeral instead. She picked those flowers personally, you know.” Ravus smirked. “My gardener threatened to quit when he found out.”

Noctis laughed. He could imagine it already, Lady Mola crouching down on a field of flowers, worrying herself for nothing to find the best flowers to put into the bouquet. He did not know if she knew it was inappropriate for ladies to give flowers to gentlemen they barely knew—Lady Mola probably did, but did not think of it until Ravus was halfway to the Crown City. She was probably quaking in her boots right about now, worrying if she had offended him again—but the gesture was touching. He never received a bouquet before. He brought it closer to his face—the unpleasant smell of the daisies overpowering the lilies—but Noctis smiled anyway. “Give her my thanks.”

“Ah, well. About that,” Ravus drawled as he sat himself on one of the settees in front of the desk. “I was wondering if you are interested in giving your gratitude personally?”

There was something in Ravus’s tone that made Noctis paused. He set the bouquet gently on the windowsill where the sunray was abundant and sat down in his armchair. “What happened? Was it last night?” he asked.

“Yes, but nothing astronomical. Surprisingly, there were some nobles that showed interest despite what happened last night. His Grace, who is not a fan of flowers, had never been so happy to see that many bouquets of flowers in his foyer, although I do believe half a dozen of them merely showed interest for amusement purposes.”

Noctis looked away as he folded the corner of a paper guiltily.

“In fact,” Ravus continued. “I do believe one of the bouquets is from Insomnia.”

Noctis frowned. “Whose?”

Ravus waved his hand. “Count Something-Something. Eduarnus? Aldinus?”

The frown deepened. “Count Eridanus. He’s a prick.”

“Noted. But coming back to our topic, I was wondering if you are free tomorrow? Since both the Oceanus and Nox Fleurets are staying in Insomnia this week, we thought of having a family luncheon together at the Oceanus’s summer house tomorrow. You know, before Luna and her husband go off for their honeymoon in Altissia. Naturally, His Grace and Lady Mola will be there, as well as my mother.”

Noctis’s throat involuntarily constricted at the mention of Luna but quickly covered it with a cough. He gave the older man a wary stare. “And you want me to come…with _you_?”

Ravus rolled his eyes. “Not like that, but yes. I would like you to come with me. Mola was terribly devastated by what happened last night. I would like to restore some confidence in her that she did nothing catastrophic or she will never come out in public. You being there will prove to her that you do not bear any misgivings towards her.” Ravus looked at him pointedly. “You did not, did you, my dear?”

“No, of course not. Sorry,” he replied hastily, “for what happened last night.”

“Ah. Terrible looking bruise, that,” the older man gave him a look that were both sympathetic and condescending. How such contradictions were possible was probably another Ravus’s mystery working. The said man scooted closer, his eyes lit up with interest. “But what _did_ happen last night? I saw you two were laughing before you two fell down. In fact, _everyone_ saw you two were laughing. The ton had a great discussion about what the killer topic was, that it brought the True King down.”

“Nothing,” Noctis flushed as he traced his bruise, suddenly embarrassed by the silliness of it. “Lady Mola made a pun and we just forgot we were dancing and lose our footing, I suppose.”

Ravus blinked. “ _Mola_? She made a _pun_?” He blinked again, twice, before leaning back into his seat, an undecipherable expression on his face. “Hmm.”

They fell into a contemplative silence before the emperor’s eyes darted around and caught something on his desk. “Oh? What’s this?” Ravus snatched the document off from the desk before Noctis could. He had brought the document with him, just in case Cor would come in to check on him, but busying himself with his paperwork made him forget it was there. The emperor skimmed over it and smirked. “Ah, ‘The List’. How nostalgic. Which edition is this?”

“You have it?” Then, catching up what the emperor had said, Noctis shook his head. “Wait. There’s more than one?”

“Had it, more like. My council never give me one anymore after I burned it right in front of them. ‘The List’ is updated every three months. It even has one for the ladies. You’d be surprised how many nobles use it.” Ravus flipped the document to a certain page. “Lady Mola is never in here, though.”

Noctis frowned. “She’s not?” Ravus handed the document back to him, and sure enough, there was no Lady Mola Altum in the ‘M’ section.

“Honestly, I am not sure whether to be grateful or insulted,” Ravus continued. “I supposed I should be grateful that she is not entangled with the ton’s wedding market game, but I also feel a little bit insulted that she was not deemed suitable enough to be a part of it.”

“Definitely insulted,” Noctis huffed, putting the document down. That thing was making his head ached again. “She is a fine lady.”

“Indeed?” Ravus had that undecipherable expression again before he smiled. “Then, you don’t mind coming for the luncheon?”

Noctis stared at his unfinished paperwork. He should not procrastinate any more than he should, or Gladio would be the one stacking—both the paperwork _and_ him —instead of Ignis. He would be too bruised to move from his armchair then. _But_ , he thought with a quick glance at the infernal document sitting on his desk and then to the bouquet flower on the windowsill. _What a better way to cheer oneself up but with a good distraction?_

Noctis smirked, already imagining the kinds of (mis)adventure he could get. He looked at Ravus. “Tomorrow, you say?”


End file.
